My Musings

Haibun – Atman

Acutely aware of the hands that dig into my shoulders, the unbearable heat of a thousand flames licking my skin, the scent of sandalwood that fails to mask the smell of charred flesh, the whispers of how young she was, the slowly bleeding sun going down a banyan tree and then the certain reluctance with which they press a long wooden pole into my hand…

Almost as if this act is supposed to purge her out of my thoughts, memories, existence, breaths… I am asked to perform the rite of the skull.